Someplace Only We Know
by Mehiel
Summary: Calliel Black, an exiled Death Eater, is given a second chance by Voldemort. But second chances from Voldemort don't come for free and Calliel has to decide- is her past more important than her future?


Okay, it's obvious I don't own Harry Potter or I wouldn't be here. Harry Potter belongs to the wonderful Ms Rowling.

Chapter 1  
  
Sitting up like a springboard with a deathly cold hand clamped over her forehead, Elaine Wren breathed a sigh of relief. So, it had been a dream? She patted the bed at her side with her free hand, another wave of relief washing over her when she felt the warm fur of Monet sleeping at her side. Good. The feline stretched and the muscles shifted under her hand, mewing softly as the white cat licked the offending hand. With much difficulty, Elaine forced herself to lie back down, her eyes still wide. "Monet?" she questioned, turning her head to look at the cat. She knew that, despite the dark, she had caught the cat's attention. Now, though, she wasn't sure what to say. Monet, she had decided long ago, was probably the most stubborn cat that she would ever cross, and now that the cat was actually listening to her. "You look," Elaine commanded, sealing her eyes shut as she offered her arm out to the cat for inspection.  
  
Monet mewed again, nudging the arm with her wet nose before leaping off the bed. "Thanks a lot, you insufferable mongrel," Elaine hissed, reaching over to her bedside table. She flipped on the Muggle light, looking down at her left forearm. It was a nightly habit, one that Elaine wouldn't mind abandoning, Beneath the pale of her skin, the black was barely visible, but still there nonetheless. "Well that solves that," she said to herself, not feeling the least bit more confident. There hadn't been a call lately, and for that, she was immensely grateful. If the Dark Lord called again, she would not be able to keep away- the pain was bordering on excruciating now, worse than any bout of _Crucio_ could ever be.  
  
Well, it's been _how_ long now? And she was still having the bloody nightmares about watching _him_ get killed. If only he didn't try to escape... If only he didn't dig too far in... If only she hadn't made him choose.  
  
Two years ago was the last time she had felt the Dark Lord's calling. That was the only time she could remember, at least. Her entire arm was on fire and the only way to end the suffering was to do what was required and apparate to wherever the Dark Lord happened to be hiding at. She had collapsed at her job, surprising more than one of her Muggle coworkers when she fell to the ground in a crumpled mess, sobbing all the while. Despite her best efforts, the idiot Muggles had sent her to a hospital, and the doctor's had found absolutely _nothing _wrong with her. She was half-tempted to curse the man with an Unforgivable, and then dare him to say there was absolutely nothing wrong. Of course, better judgment- and Monet- stopped her from sharing her suffering with the doctor.  
  
And a bloody pest Monet was. Supposedly, Monet had been a gift from the Ministry of Magic, to watch her and make sure she didn't violate one of the million and a half rules and guidelines set up on her expulsion. How she managed to escape a life-term in Azkaban still baffled her to this day. All of the others ended up there. Hell, even one of her brothers made it into the wizarding jail. Belial was a big supporter of the Dark Lord back in the day, much to the dismay of her parents. They had always expected Astoreth to join the Dark Lord before Belial. Why hadn't she joined Belial in jail? He hadn't gone to Azkaban, lucky him. Instead, he was sent to a neutral prison in Switzerland. After all, it was only fair that they both had the same offenses. All she got was Monet and a note saying that if she dared to renter Britain- wizarding, muggle, or otherwise- she would be finding herself with her comrades faster than she could say 'quidditch'. Which had been exactly what had prevented her from reentering Britain when she had been called back all those times. Of course, if she had been ten years younger, she wouldn't have even bothered with the so-called threat and just went on her merry way. If it had included her return to Britain, than so be it. All the better. But, it didn't, and she fully intended to live to see the end of the war going on an ocean away.  
  
She sat up, knowing fully well that she wouldn't be sleeping anymore tonight, and swung her legs over the side of her bed. Padding to the door, she entered the small living room- kitchen of her apartment. It wasn't much, and probably the worst thing she could do in the eyes of her parents, but it was small, had minimal upkeep, and unwanted visitors rarely came calling this high up in the building. She flopped down gracelessly on the couch, not surprised to see her watch-cat amble to the windowsill and watch the empty streets with sharp violet eyes. This couldn't be how Monet imagined life either, Elaine thought with a dismal frown.  
  
And more often than not, this was how Elaine spent the nights of her last fifteen years. Rarely did she sleep a full night anymore. The bitter reminders of the people she had come to trust sent away to live in their own personal Hell while she slipped out on exile woke her when her arm didn't. At one point, she even went so far as to visit one of those doctors that specialized in sleep disorders. No help there though. "I hope you fall out that window, Monet," Elaine grumbled, picking up an issue of _Cosmopolitan_ off the coffee table and flipping through it distractedly.  
  
"M-M-Ms Calliel, is that how you treat an official from the ministry?"  
  
Turning quickly to see who dared enter her home, she admitted that she should have known the person by the voice alone. "Go to Hell, Pettigrew," she scowled, returning to her magazine and becoming suddenly interested in an article about miraculous survivals. The plump man didn't move, flexing a silver-gloved hand in annoyance. She glanced over her shoulder, "Although I thought you had already gone there. Isn't that why Sirius got locked up?"  
  
Pettigrew ignored her question, his small eyes flashing in anger. She had hit a sore spot with that one, no doubt about that. "His Lordship wishes you to return to him. Now."  
  
There was a fake sort of confidence in him, Elaine noticed with a frown. He probably taken some potion, which would a simple enough solution- even for Pettigrew- because he definitely wasn't the stuttering idiot he typically was. "I'm not part of the inner circle," she mused allowed, "Mainly because some ugly git stole my place."  
  
"Severus Snape-"  
  
"You blundering dolt!" she hissed, silently wondering how this fat, cowardly man managed to win the Dark Lord's acceptance. "_YOU_ did!" Maybe it was because he exactly that. He was simply a fat, cowardly man, and on those terms alone, that made him all the better of a loyal servant. While he offered no assistance in the long run, he was easy to mold, easy to deceive. "I have nothing against Snape, when you manage to get your brain working again. Remember? Or maybe you're just too damn stupid... But either way, it may be a foreign concept to you- friendship. After all, you treated your friends oh so well. Killed one, sent another to Azkaban..."  
  
Pettigrew, to her amazement, looked righteously offended. Maybe, she thought dismally, it was because he was taking insult after insult from a woman who is supposed to lower than him on the Dark Lord's screwed up hierarchy. "The Dark Lord wants you in his presence now. You're already on his Lordship's bad side for not returning for the rebirthing party..." Pettigrew growled, and to his surprise, Elaine stood, her grey eyes sparking.  
  
"Pettigrew, I know this will be tough for you to understand," she grumbled, stalking over to the window and plucking Monet up off the sill. She stomped back over and held the cat out before her. "This is a _gift_ from the Ministry. In other- simpler- words, this little kitty, despite its overall cuteness, reports what I do and where I go back to the Ministry on a regular basis. I have to owl the bastards sixty days in advance if I want to even leave the _city_! Now if I go and simply disappear one day after kitty here reports that I had a conversation with you, I know it won't take a rocket scientist to realize that I went back to London or wherever the hell the Dark Lord is hiding these days!"  
  
"Rocket scientist?" Pettigrew asked in blunt confusion. His lack of knowledge of muggle expressions made her fists curl under Monet's long fur. Merlin, how dare _she_- she of a highly respected pureblood wizarding family that could trace their roots back all the way the age of Arthur and his Camelot- be exiled to this horrid excuse of a life! Especially when this little smuck got away from Sirius Black with nothing more than a scratch. At least Pettigrew was _allowed_ to use magic. Elaine always received a piece of post the next week warning her if she were to use magic again, there'd be dire consequences. With all those letters she had, one would think they'd be a little less vague to a repeat offender and at least tell her what those consequences would be...  
  
Elaine set Monet back on the couch, a little more forcibly than the cat would have appreciated, and stalked back into her bedroom. Stunned, Pettigrew followed after her, halting at the door when he saw her facing him with her wand pointed directly at his chest. "I will write the Dark Lord a note explaining my predicament, because I just know that you'll somehow mess this one up and make me look bad. You will take it to him, and return in a week with a reply," she demanded, her anger slowly fizzling out. Fishing an old piece of notebook paper and a ballpoint pen from the drawer of her desk, she wrote slowly, putting a great deal of consideration in her words. This was the Dark Lord, after all.  
  
Somewhat satisfied, she sealed the note with a piece of invisible tape and handed it to Pettigrew. "Don't open it," she instructed, picking her wand back up. Pettigrew tucked the note into the folds of his robe and disappeared, the only reminders of his arrival being the small swirl of smoke that remained.  
  
Monet stood in the doorway, looking at the woman with the large eyes that only a cat could possess. "Are you happy?" she asked the cat, expecting some sort of answer from the animal. Anything. "I didn't go. I followed your stupid rules. Now, thanks to you, someone worse than Pettigrew will come and I'll be dead this time next week."  
  
She climbed back into her bed, staring blankly at the wall. Monet followed, pouncing up on the bed and climbing across her body. "Go away," she grumbled lowly, pushing the cat away. "I'm sick of this, you know that? I can't even see my family because of your bloody rules." The cat looked to her skeptically and she threw her arms up in aggravation. "My parents are both alive, thank you very much! And so is Belial! Switzerland, remember? Your people put him there! They probably think I'm dead now. Not that they'd mind any, but still! You're lucky I knew people here, or else I would have went home so damn quickly..."  
  
Monet leapt off the bed, probably to inform the Ministry that Elaine wasn't as stable as they had first figured. What a surprise there. With a depressed sigh, Elaine buried her face in her pillow. If she were lucky, she wouldn't even wake up the next morning...

* * *

No such luck, and nearly a week and a half later, Elaine still lied in the same fetal position. She had taken Aleve, Tylenol, and some other stuff in a rather suspicious looking bottle, but the dull throbbing in her arm was still there. Her job was as good as gone at this point, not that Elaine even cared anymore. Monet, probably fearing for her safety, had avoided the wayward human in an attempt to ease the stress, but to no avail.  
  
Elaine was still in her pajamas when the hallway clock chimed noon, although she had taken care to continue her daily showers and personal hygiene regiment. It wasn't easy, but it managed to take her mind off the pain. She was starving; the pain had become too great to even lift a glass of water. She hissed in pain, sobbing dry tears that wracked her thin frame. At one point, it may have just been just hours or even days ago; she had hexed Monet on the spot, scorching the feline's fur in several spots. Either way, Monet was gone now and she was left to suffer in her owned deformed idea of peace.  
  
"_Calliel Black!_"  
  
She sealed her eyes shut, groaning involuntarily when another burst of fire exploded in the flesh of her arm. But, to Elaine's amazement, the intruder didn't hear her, and for that she was grateful. If it was her boss, and he managed to find her squirming from invisible pains, she would surely be entered into a hospital. And it wouldn't be one of the good ones either.  
  
No, it couldn't possibly be her boss. He knew her as Elaine Wren- a combination between her middle and maiden name. After all, the name Calliel Black was known to a few Muggles- those closely connected to the British wizarding world- even in the US, an ocean away.  
  
"_Get out here right now!_"  
  
Her teeth dug into her lips, forcing back any sort of noise. And it was working well; she heard the front door of her apartment opening, until she fell off her bed with a loud _'oomph'_. The trespasser entered her room, and she was happy for a fleeting moment that it wasn't Pettigrew coming back to kill her.  
  
Instead, it couldn't have gotten any worse. But did she really expect his Lordship to send Pettigrew back when it was perfectly obvious that she wasn't going to listen to him? No, not really. She had hoped it was, the man deserved another verbal lashing, but she hadn't expected it.  
  
"In pain, Calliel?"  
  
"Of... course not..." Elaine huffed, trying desperately to bring herself to her knees in the presence of the three. Yes, three. Apparently, the Dark Lord was dead set on her return and her note had done little to change his mind. She could tell by the three sets of robes that one was Bellatrix, and there was no doubt that one of the other sets of robes belonged to her husband. The two rarely traveled apart, and when they did, it was always rather short.  
  
"Find the cat," Bellatrix told her husband. "Hang it out the window." One man stalked out of the room, and she could tell by the mop of hair that it was Rodolphus. "How have you been doing, Calliel? How has life outside Azkaban been?"  
  
There was a swift kick to her side, which was stopped just a little late by the third person's presence. "Sirius is dead," Bellatrix continued, and Elaine just knew that the Death Eater was smiling. "Killed him myself in the Department of Mysteries not too long ago. I imagine that you'll be going the same way once we take you back to his Lordship. What a shame... Take care of her, will you? I have to find something..."  
  
Bellatrix abandoned the room and there was the loud shuffling in the main room. "Don't you dare touch me," Elaine hissed, biting her lip in pain. Blood trickled down her chin from a rather sharp tooth and she winced, wiping it off her chin with a trembling hand. "I'll hex you so bad you'll wish you're dead."  
  
"I think that the chances of you hexing me are highly unlikely, Calliel," the third trespasser said icily, and she heard him take her wand from her dresser. "You really shouldn't keep your wand out in the open..." He pocketed it in his black robes and dragged Elaine to her feet. She didn't stay standing for too long though, collapsing right back to the floor.  
  
"Come on, Snape!" Bellatrix bellowed from the main room. "I've got the portkey all ready."  
  
Snape. She should have known it was him. The first time she sees him since Regulus' death and she was in her pajamas and all but retching her guts out. Damn it, she cursed, and remained still as he attempted to pull her to her feet again. "Go away," she mumbled through the pain, hitting him on the arm. It wasn't hard, just enough to shock him into loosening his grip on her. Which he did, almost dropping her as a result. Rodolphus reentered the room, glaring at the one of the Death Eaters, which one was Elaine wasn't sure of. Rodolphus picked up Elaine off the ground, rather roughly, and stormed out, barking orders to his beloved wife. Snape stalked out after Rodolphus, glowering like he always had. She met his eyes, briefly, before looking to the floor.  
  
The trio of Death Eaters took hold of the portkey, which happened to be her busted blender, and Rodolphus shoved her hand on the muggle electronic. Elaine's pain ebbed away, much to her pleasure, but instead was replaced with the distinct pulling of the portkey. 


End file.
